A Feather on the Water(57)

Martha felt something thicken in her throat at the thought of what he must have suffered all this time. How had he remained so calm, so stoic, in the weeks she had known him? How could he have kept it all inside for so long? She should have had the courage to ask, should have admitted to herself that tiptoeing around the subject of his past was as much for her sake as for his. The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to know.

“You’ll go back? When the border opens?” She lowered her hands. Their skin was no longer touching.

“Yes. It’s what I’m waiting for. To find where they have gone.”



Martha stumbled through the door of the cabin. She needed to be alone for a while. But as she stepped inside, she heard a noise in the kitchen.

“I couldn’t eat breakfast,” Delphine called, “but I’m really hungry now.” Her head appeared around the door. “Have you had anything? Oh, Martha, you look terrible!”

Martha slumped onto one of the dining chairs. “It’s just . . . I . . . I saw the grave—for the baby. Stefan was making a cross.”

Delphine came to sit beside her. “You’re bound to be upset. Seeing him doing that—it makes it so real, so . . . final.”

“I started crying.” Martha stared at a ring on the surface of the table where something hot had marked it. “Then he got upset, too. He told me he had a daughter in Warsaw who was three years old when he last saw her. He doesn’t know if she’s still alive.”

Delphine put her hand on Martha’s. “What else did he tell you?”

“That he hasn’t heard from his wife since he was taken by the Germans. He wrote letters but . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She blinked at the mark on the table, trying to hold back tears.

“He’ll be going through hell.” Delphine’s voice was level, but it had an intensity that made Martha look up.

“I’m sorry,” Martha whispered. “I shouldn’t have spoken about it. You of all people must know how it feels.”

Delphine nodded. “The not-knowing is like slow torture. But for him, there’s an extra dimension.”

“Why?”

“His heart is split in two,” Delphine replied. “Forgive me, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Martha stared, wordless, through blurred eyes.

“I thought I was imagining it at first,” Delphine went on. “But then, at the wedding . . . You looked so lovely in that dress—he couldn’t take his eyes off you.” She sighed softly. “I was so afraid for you. I thought there must be someone. I mean, everyone in this place has lost family, haven’t they? I wanted to say something to you. Warn you about . . .” She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “About . . . getting too close to him. But I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Martha tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.

“Let me get you some water.” Delphine shifted in her chair.

Martha shook her head. “I’m okay.” Her voice was croaky. She coughed and tried again. “I was always afraid to ask him about his life before the war. And as time went on, I guess I pushed it to the back of my mind.” She squeezed Delphine’s hand, as if holding on for dear life. “It could never have come to anything, could it? Even if we were both free. Can you imagine what they would have said in Munich? The woman running the camp getting involved with a DP?”

Delphine’s face was unreadable. “That’s what you’re going to have to keep telling yourself for now. But we don’t know what he’s going to find when he goes back. And you won’t be running the camp forever. One day, there’ll be no need for this place.”





PART TWO





CHAPTER 17


September 1945


As the nights lengthened in Bavaria, the mornings turned colder. Sometimes a mist crept over the river during the night, giving the entrance to the camp a ghostly look—as if, in passing through the gates, you were leaving one dimension and entering another. Martha was no longer certain which one felt more real to her now: the camp or the world outside.

Much had happened in the last weeks of summer. To everyone’s amazement and delight, the young boy Edek Dijak had found his father in Munich and brought him back to Seidenmühle for a joyful reunion with the rest of the family.

That same week, the Japanese had surrendered, which had triggered wild celebrations at the military base down the road. A group of single women from the camp had been invited to the Victory Dance, chaperoned by Kitty. When they returned, Kitty had had a look in her eyes that Martha hadn’t seen before—a look that had persisted long after the effects of half a dozen bottles of Budweiser had worn off. Despite the weight of worry about her missing parents, she had a radiance about her. But subtle questions about who might be the cause of it had yielded nothing. If Kitty had fallen for someone, she was keeping it to herself.

After V-J Day, movement in the American zone had become a little easier. Most of the mothers and babies in the cabins next door had been transferred to a camp in the British zone. And Jadzia had moved to Frankfurt, due to another small miracle worked by Father Josef. He had contacted a fellow survivor of Dachau—a German priest—who had offered Jadzia a job as a housekeeper.